Passion 》h.s.

Prologue

"Dear Journal,

   God, I sound like a pathetic fucking girl, but its either write in this bullshit journal or jail, considering I haven't been sustaining the rules set for me, my boundaries are incredibly low.

Since I brought up the whole passion deal and what not to Roberts he ordered me to write about it, to write what it is that sparks my passion. If he only knew it was something as small as a person, but not just any person, her.

The one who's opened my eyes to a magnificent world, the one my mind, body, and soul crave for, the one that's my inspiration,  my world, and my passion. She's the only thing keeping me alive, and every fucking day I reminisce on the day we met....."

The gloomy sky set a rather grey atmosphere around the small town of Holmes Chapel. Various small, well known bars lit with laughter and joyous joining a of friends and family, contrasting with the demeaning weather.

Harry's usual routine of drinking continuing for another night as he enters the small, rusted out bar. His depressed mind craves for one thing to bring him out of his misery for what seems like the umpteenth time in the past years of his unhealthy lifestyle.

The chipped, deep mohagony door lightly creeks as Harry saunters his way into the small building with his head held low, for he knows what he is doing is the wrong way to deal, but he can't control it any longer, it's taken over his life in such a dramatic way.

Many of the citizens in the bar pay no attention to Harry's entrance, considering they are regulars themselves, this bar becoming a second home for most of the individuals, as Harry refuses to acknowledge his surroundings as well.

One girl in particular watches Harry's lanky body enter the bar, the same girl that has had her eyes on him for the past 2 exhausting, and routinely weeks. She stirs her Pepsi around with her straw and devours Harry with her eyes, almost burning holes in his back.

Her eyes never leave his presence, as Harry orders his first drink of many to come. Harry's once bright eyes sting with sadness and fatigue, reflecting a now dull look his body has evolved into. He slams the glass down, barely creating any such noise against the chipped bar, and let's out a emotion filled sigh. He runs through the same routine of ordering drinks over and over again. The process nothing of a new sort.

Harry's body fidgets in remembrance of a feeling of being watched, a familiar feeling he has lately been encountering. He slightly turns his head and scans the bars surroundings, to once again notice a very attractive girl sitting in the corner, lonesome and obviously sober. He questions whether or not to finally confront this girl, but decides on leaving it be, she has done no harm and he knows what the outcome would be if he were to start an argument of such.

Long, sleepless hours pass and Harry is finishing up his last beers of the night, the mysterious girl never departing her gaze from his sight. She is determined to finally speak to Harry, to attempt to knock some sense into his head and help lead him down a more sensible path. But has she waited to long? Is Harry now to drunk to process her very well, layed out speech she has prepared? She pays no attention to that possibility, she knows tonight is the right night to accomplish this journey she has created.

She straightens out a couple distressed and crumpled dollar bills, tossing them atop the table as a kind tip to the worn out waitress. A part of her feels bold and courageous, getting to finally, and hopefully help a lost soul, but another small, hidden part is frightened of a possibility of a drastic outcome.

Shaking her insecurities from her mind, she makes her way over to the drunkened lad. He pays no attention to her presence as she sits herself upon a spinning stool, the leather ripping and tearing in various areas, but nonetheless comfortable.